Ex-Colombian official sentenced to 12 years in money laundering case tied to DEA misconduct
Omar Ambuila, 64, pleaded guilty on the second day of a trial this year that had been expected to shed new light on a misconduct scandal in which more than a dozen U.S. federal agents were quietly disciplined or ousted from their jobs.
Among the would-be witnesses was José Irizarry, a DEA agent now serving a 12-year prison sentence for skimming millions of dollars from money laundering stings to fund a decade's worth of luxury overseas travel, fine dining, top seats at sporting events and frat house-style debauchery.
Prosecutors said Ambuila deserved a harsh sentence for abusing his trust as one of the highest-ranking officials at the Colombian port of Buenaventura, a major transit point for U.S.-bound cocaine.
At one point, prosecutors said, Ambuila held himself out as a retired soccer player while buying a Lamborghini to conceal 'the corrupt nature' of his wealth. Prosecutor Joseph Palazzo told a judge in Tampa federal court that Ambuila had made a series of "particularly obscene purchases' in Miami, including the luxury vehicle and rental waterfront properties.
"This is not about someone from extremely deprived or humble beginnings going down a wayward path reluctantly,' Palazzo said. 'This was a calculated crime.'
U.S. District Court Judge Virginia M. Hernandez Covington called the corruption 'heartbreaking."
'This is a person who was a public official engaged in very serious misconduct," she said.
Prosecutors had previously offered Ambuila a sentence of about three years — or time served dating to his 2021 arrest — followed by deportation to Colombia. The scheme involved more than two dozen bank accounts and 30,000 audio files from wiretapped conversations. But he rejected that earlier.
Ambuila's attorney, Victor D. Martinez, asked for leniency, arguing Ambuila was less culpable than Irizarry.
'Greed born from association with a corrupt DEA agent shattered Mr. Ambuila's vision for his future,' Martinez wrote in a court filing. Ambuila, he added, "is deeply repentant and tortures himself every day questioning his conduct and regretting his lack of moral fortitude."
The Internal Revenue Service and U.S. Department of Homeland Security first suspected Ambuila after his daughter posted photos of herself carrying designer handbags, taking luxury vacations to Paris and driving a $330,000 red Lamborghini.
That lavish lifestyle didn't match the 20-something University of Miami graduate's modest income as a social media influencer or that of her father, who earned about $2,000 a month.
A chunk of the funds used to pay for the Lamborghini Huracan Spyder originated in an account controlled by Jhon Marín, whom an IRS criminal investigator described at trial as the Florida-based nephew of a 'known contraband smuggler in Colombia.'
An Associated Press investigation previously identified Marin's uncle as Diego Marín, a longtime DEA informant known to investigators as Colombia's 'Contraband King' for allegedly laundering money through imported appliances and other goods.
Marín has not been charged in the U.S. But prosecutors in Colombia last year requested his extradition from Spain, where he was living, to face criminal charges. His attorneys declined to comment.
In Tampa federal court Thursday, Ambuila apologized to the United States and said he pleaded guilty midway through trial. 'I was thinking about my daughter and how it would impact her,' he said. "I was thinking I'd get a sentence of time served.'
—-
Mustian reported from New Orleans.
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The Hill
15 minutes ago
- The Hill
DOJ rocked by wave of Trump firings
The Justice Department has been rocked by a wave of recent firings, a sign the administration is not done culling the ranks of career officials as it seeks to shape the department under a second Trump term. Maurene Comey, a New York-based federal prosecutor and the daughter of the former FBI director, was fired Wednesday without explanation. And news broke this week that the Justice Department also fired immigration court Judge Jennifer Peyton, who served as head of the Chicago immigration court system, shortly after the jurist gave a tour to Sen. Dick Durbin (D-Ill.), ranking member of the Judiciary Committee. Those firings come on the heels of the dismissal of at least 20 staffers who worked under special counsel Jack Smith, a group that includes not only attorneys but also support staff and even U.S. Marshals. Attorney General Pam Bondi last week also fired the top career ethics official at the department, Joseph Tirrell, the latest in a string of ethics officials pushed out under President Trump. 'Every time I think we're at some point when the firings are over, there's another wave. So I would predict we'll see more,' said Sen. Richard Blumenthal (D-Conn.), a member of the Senate Judiciary Committee. 'It's more dedicated career professionals being given walking papers when they really deserve to be elevated and empowered. And to fire the ethics attorney, I think, speaks volumes about where she's taking the department,' Blumenthal said. Justice Connection, a network of the department's alumni dedicated to protecting 'colleagues who are under attack,' estimate that more than 200 employees have been terminated at DOJ, a figure that includes firings at the FBI and other agencies, as well as prosecutors that worked on the cases of Jan. 6 rioters at the U.S. Attorney's Office in D.C. 'The senseless terminations at the Justice Department are growing exponentially. The very institution created to enforce the law is trampling over the civil service laws enacted by Congress. It's shameful, and it's devastating the workforce,' Stacey Young, executive director and founder of the group, said in a statement to The Hill 'DOJ leadership is making clear the ability to keep your job is not tied to your performance, your expertise, or your commitment to uphold and defend the Constitution. Those who remain at the department are now worried about how to uphold their professional ethical standards when it seems that their willingness to do whatever they are ordered matters more than any other aspect of their work.' The Justice Department declined to comment on personnel matters. Many of the attorneys that were fired have received brief letters saying they were terminated under the authority of the second article of the constitution, the one that establishes the presidency. A letter from Comey to her colleagues referenced the guiding ethos of the Justice Department: to pursue cases 'without fear or favor.' 'Our focus was really on acting 'without favor.' That is, making sure people with access, money, and power were not treated differently than anyone else; and making sure this office remained separate from politics and focused only on the facts and the law,' Comey said in the memo, adding, 'but we have entered a new phase where 'without fear' may be the challenge.' In the case of Peyton, Durbin said he sees a direct line between the tour she gave him – something he called a routine oversight visit – and her termination. 'Judge Peyton took time to show me the court and explain its functions. Soon after, she received an email from Department of Justice political appointees. The email claimed that immigration judges should not directly communicate with members of Congress and congressional staff and required all communications from congressional offices to be forwarded to headquarters for review and response,' Durbin said in a Tuesday email. 'Judge Peyton was fired soon after. Her abrupt termination is an abuse of power by the Administration to punish a non-political judge simply for doing her job.' On Smith's team, the recent firings make for at least 37 staffers who have been dismissed, according to Reuters. And on the ethics front, beyond Terrill, Jeffrey Ragsdale, the head of the Office of Professional Responsibility, which reviews the conduct of attorneys in the department, was fired in March. Brad Weinsheimer, another top ethics official, resigned after he was reassigned to a new working group focused on cracking down on sanctuary cities. Sen. Adam Schiff (D-Calif.), also a member of the Senate Judiciary Committee, said he sees two primary patterns. 'This is Pam Bondi attempting to go after all the president's perceived political enemies, to go after dedicated prosecutors who brought cases successfully to conviction. It's also part of the broader effort to completely rewrite history about Jan. 6,' he told The Hill, adding that he expects more firing of those 'deemed insufficiently pro-MAGA.' He then listed a string of officials inside and outside of DOJ that have been fired under Trump, including the heads of the Office of the Special Counsel and the Office of Government Ethics. 'They seem to be doing everything they can to eviscerate any kind of watchdog or ethical oversight – clearly part of a pattern of trying to eliminate all accountability,' said Schiff, who sent a letter to Bondi this week asking for more details on Terrill's firings and plans to comply with ethics guidelines at the department. Beyond the firings, many Justice Department lawyers have left the department of their own accord, with several sharing with The Hill they feared being asked to do something illegal or would be forced to defend unlawful actions. Rep. Jamie Raskin (D-Md.), the top Democrat on the House Judiciary Committee, said the result is a culture of fear at the Justice Department. 'The Department of Justice is now a joke. When you look at the history of a once storied and legendary department, Pam Bondi has defined her job as doing whatever Donald Trump wants. She's completely sycophantic and subservient. And there may be some lawyers still left in the building who are trying to do their jobs in an honest way consistent with professional ethics, but everything has been supported, subordinated to the political will of Donald Trump,' he told The Hill. 'It's a tough thing for the real lawyers who are still there, and they express a lot of fear and anxiety about where the DOJ is going.' He added that some Republican colleagues, largely former prosecutors, have privately expressed concern over the firings. 'I have had Republican colleagues who were former federal prosecutors telling me privately that they are absolutely appalled that United States assistant attorneys are being fired because they worked on the January 6 case,' Raskin said. 'Think about the implications of that. People are being fired for doing their jobs well, and their job was bringing cases against people who violently assaulted federal police officers,' he said. But that concern was not publicly shared by Rep. Jim Jordan (R-Ohio), the chair of the panel. 'I have confidence in President Trump, confidence in his team at the Justice Department, if that's what they think is in the best interest of fulfilling their mission, that's their call,' he told The Hill. 'I don't know this particulars about each individual, but if that's what the attorney general believes is in the best interest of the Justice Department's mission, that's fine.' Comey and Terrill both addressed morale in letters to their colleagues. Comey said unjustified firings mean 'fear may seep into the decisions of those who remain.' 'Do not let that happen. Fear is the tool of a tyrant, wielded to suppress independent thought. Instead of fear, let this moment fuel the fire that already burns at the heart of this place. A fire of righteous indignation at abuses of power. Of commitment to seek justice for victims. Of dedication to truth above all else,' she wrote. Terrill, too, hinted at a call to action from colleagues. 'I believe in the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. – 'the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice,'' he wrote in a post on LinkedIn that included his brief termination notice. 'I also believe that Edmund Burke is right and that 'the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing.'
CNN
16 minutes ago
- CNN
The long road Idaho prosecutors sought to spare the families of Bryan Kohberger's victims by avoiding a death penalty trial
When the men who murdered Carmen Gayheart were sentenced to death in 1995, her sister, Maria David, thought it might be 12 or 14 years before they were executed. She waited 31. Life went on. David got married and had two boys. The family left West Palm Beach, Florida, she said, because it was too hard to live there with all the memories of Carmen, herself a mother of two and an aspiring nurse. But 'for every good thing in my life, there was a sad shadow hanging over,' David said – because of what happened to Carmen, and the long wait for the executions. David would open the mailbox and find an envelope from the attorney general's office, informing her that her sister's killers had filed another appeal. Another envelope would follow with the state's response, then another with the court's opinion. Later, another envelope. Another appeal. For three decades, she worked to see the executions carried out, calling state officials and her victim's advocate, writing letters and attending hearings for the inmates' appeals so they would know Carmen's family had not forgotten. 'I devoted a lot of time to that. I feel like I put my family second a lot,' David told CNN. 'I think a lot of times I did put the kids in front of the TV more to get online and read something or to write a letter or, you know, just immerse myself in that, more so than my own life.' David's experience is not uncommon for the loved ones of victims in capital cases. Her story illustrates the long road Idaho prosecutors say they wanted to spare the families of four University of Idaho students killed in November 2022 by agreeing to a plea deal that would see the confessed killer avoid a possible death sentence. Instead, Bryan Kohberger will be sentenced this week to life in prison without parole, and he'll forfeit his right to appeal. The agreement received mixed reactions from the families of Ethan Chapin, Kaylee Goncalves, Xana Kernodle and Madison Mogen. The fathers of Goncalves and Kernodle expressed anger, criticizing prosecutors for not adequately consulting the families before agreeing to the deal. 'We'll never see this as justice,' Steve Goncalves told CNN's Jim Sciutto. Others voiced acceptance, saying they were relieved to avoid a drawn-out trial and the possibility of a yearslong appeals process. The Chapin family's 'initial response was, 'an eye for an eye,'' Ethan's mother told NBC's 'Today.' 'But we've spent a ton of time talking about it with prosecutors, and for us, we always felt like this was a better deal.' This split highlights how the death penalty – and the possibility of it – affects victims' loved ones, often referred to as survivors or co-victims, in deeply personal ways. They are not a monolithic group; resolution can mean something different to each person. 'Every co-victim of murder is different in what their needs are and are going to be different in how they see those needs being met and are going to be different in how they see justice being served,' said Scott Vollum, a professor at the University of Minnesota Duluth who has studied violence, the death penalty and its effect on co-victims. To try and determine if the death penalty helps or provides closure to co-victims writ large, he said, is a 'conclusion that denies some people the validity of how they feel.' Had Kohberger gone to trial, there was no guarantee he would have been sentenced to death. If he were, it likely would have been years, even decades, before an execution – and even that would not be certain. For victims' families, a death sentence is not the end of a journey but the beginning of one. While some may find solace in the end, for many – even those who support the execution – the intervening years of appeals and uncertainty often reopen old wounds. 'It was difficult,' David told CNN several weeks after witnessing the execution of one of the men who killed her sister. 'It was a long road, hard road, sad road. Infuriating at times, because you just don't realize how long it's going to take.' 'You just don't realize 31 years is going to happen.' Death penalty cases take a long time to conclude because of the finality of execution. Once put to death, an inmate can no longer appeal to remedy any errors in their case. The appeals process following a death sentence is meant to be thorough, ensuring the defendant is truly guilty and deserving of the ultimate punishment, which is legal under federal law and in 27 states, though governors in four of those states have suspended executions. That means victims' families often wait years to see an execution. As of 2024, an inmate spent an average of 269 months – more than 22 years – on death row awaiting execution, according to the Death Penalty Information Center. 'Many victims in death penalty cases describe getting victimized by the system,' said Samuel Newton, a law professor at the University of Idaho. He likened this appellate process to an 'emotional juggernaut' for survivors. 'We're talking eight, nine, 10, 12 legal proceedings that will take decades to resolve,' he told CNN. Roger Turner waited two decades to see the man who killed his father, Henry Lee Turner, put to death. Even 10 years would have been too long, he said. 'That's additional suffering that does not need to happen.' Turner had long ago forgiven the killer, citing his Christian faith. But he struggled with the case's repeated resurfacing, which forced Turner to relive the ordeal of his father's murder and the night in 2005 when his dad – a kind man who would lend a hand to anyone in need, including his killer – didn't meet him as expected. 'I'd kind of forget about him for a little while,' Turner said of the killer, 'and then, boom. It would come up in the news. It was always there.' 'I know that I can go on with my life,' he told CNN after witnessing the execution in June. 'But that still doesn't change the fact that I had to carry that burden for 20 years, in my mind and on my shoulders.' An execution – or even a death sentence – is not a foregone conclusion, even in high-profile, notorious cases like the one in Idaho. Anthony Montalto would have willingly waited and endured many appeals to see the man who murdered his daughter in the 2018 Parkland shooting executed, he said. Though the shooter pleaded guilty to murdering Gina – whom her father fondly remembers for her smile, her personality and her desire to help others – and 16 students and staff, the jury did not unanimously recommend the death penalty, resulting in a sentence of life without parole. 'Given the trade-off … I would have accepted that,' Montalto told CNN of the lengthy appeals process. 'When you lose a child, you think about her every day. There's no day that will ever be truly happy again after you have your daughter murdered.' Even when imposed, a death sentence may not be carried out. Convictions or death sentences can be overturned during appeals, and some defendants may be spared from execution. A governor, for instance, might grant clemency, pause executions in their state or clear death row altogether. A Death Penalty Information Center analysis of more than 9,700 death sentences found that fewer than one in six death sentences will lead to an execution. Additionally, at least 200 people since 1973 have been wrongfully convicted and sentenced to death before later being exonerated, according to DPIC – underscoring the importance of a thorough appeals process. And it's always possible a defendant will die of other causes before entering the execution chamber. One of Carmen Gayheart's two killers died in prison two years ago 'without accountability,' David, her sister, said. 'That was really a sucker punch.' After enduring all this, survivors may have the opportunity to witness an execution. But resolution is subjective, and whether the execution brings peace or comfort to a victim's loved one will vary from person to person. The idea of 'closure,' however, is one Vollum believes is 'somewhat of a myth.' 'That word, 'closure,' even amongst co-victims, often gets rejected,' he said, even by those who desire an execution. 'Closure,' he believes, is an idea imposed on co-victims by politicians and policymakers, who have promised an execution will 'be a magical point of closure.' But the loss of a loved one is never over, he said. Instead, co-victims will refer to an execution as the start of 'a new chapter,' or something that helps them 'turn a page, and maybe move on to a different stage in life.' Not everyone feels that way. Some co-victims oppose executions, perhaps wanting the killer to live with their crimes, or hoping to later seek answers from the perpetrator, he said. Others who witness an execution, he said, may leave the death chamber dissatisfied, either because they don't feel resolution or because they feel the process focused on the offender rather than the victims. 'I think a lot of people are promised that this will somehow bring them some kind of catharsis or some kind of healing,' he said, 'and I think to some degree that's false hope for individuals who are experiencing a loss that isn't so easily remedied by another act of violence.' 'That's not to say,' he added, 'that there aren't co-victims that feel better having seen the offender that killed their loved one executed, whether seeing it directly or knowing that it happened.' Maria David is one of them. Before the execution of her sister's surviving killer last month, she was skeptical it would bring her relief. But after she and 16 family members gathered to witness the execution, she felt differently. It wasn't immediate, she said. But a couple of hours later, she and her family visited Carmen's grave, lighting candles in the dark. She felt a sense of peace. The next day, she looked out the window and saw a rainbow – a sign, she said, from Carmen. 'I do feel differently than I thought I would,' she said. 'I felt like, prior to that, it was just closing the legal chapter and that, of course, I'm never going to get over what happened to her.' 'But I do feel calm. I feel better. They're dead now,' she said. 'There is not another piece of paperwork that is going to come here regarding either one of them. That is a blessing in and of itself. And I do feel like I'm going to be more on a healing journey than anything else – focus more on myself, taking care of myself better and my family.' CNN's Elizabeth Wolfe, Julia Vargas Jones and Norma Galeana contributed to this report.
Fox News
16 minutes ago
- Fox News
Backstreet Boy claims 'American Dream' is under attack as he battles sheriff over beach trespassers
Brian Littrell just wants the alleged trespassers on his beach to quit playing games. "This is the American dream," the Backstreet Boys singer told Fox News Digital this week. "Like I've worked for three decades, longer than three decades, in the music business to have some sort of honesty and transparency in my music. You know, music is an emotion that brings all kinds of walks of life together for happiness and joy. And so I think I could walk out on the beach and, you know, people would be like, 'Hey, man, it's nice to meet you,' but just keep it moving, like just keep walking, because that beach access doesn't entitle you to a public beach." The 50-year-old recently sued the Walton County Sheriff's Office in Florida for a writ of mandamus, claiming officials aren't doing their part to help keep trespassers off of his private beach. "It's very frustrating, and this has been a humbling experience, I have to say, because [we're] not getting any help, it's not getting anywhere," Littrell admitted. "Hopefully, we'll get some sort of resolve or some sort of communication that will come out of this that will basically draw the line in the sand, no pun intended, where, 'Hey, just keep it moving. This is private.' We don't want any qualms." He added, "So, we're about the truth and the law. It's just that simple." Littrell said that he now fears for his safety in his backyard at the beach home where he's lived for three years. "The frustrating thing is that we're not getting any help, you know, we're not getting any law enforcement down there … and we know the law, because we're taxpayers," he said. "It shouldn't be that difficult." The tipping point for him was a couple of weeks ago. "My wife called 911 three times and nobody showed. Nobody showed at all. We had trespassers on our property. They were filming. They were using our stuff and our equipment, and our beach stuff, and, no, she's not gonna walk out there by herself. And the third time she called 911, the dispatch lady hung up on her. So this is a heartfelt plea for all property owners that you have rights. You know, we have rights just like everybody else." WATCH: BACKSTREET BOYS' BRIAN LITTRELL CLAIMS 'AMERICAN DREAM' IS UNDER ATTACK AS HE BATTLES SHERIFF OVER BEACH TRESPASSERS "So, this is a heartfelt plea for all property owners that you have rights. You know, we have rights just like everybody else." He said the police are trying to protect the public, "but they forget that we are part of the public, too, because we are beachfront owners. So, there just has to be a line in the sand, no pun intended. There has to some sort of line where we have boundaries." The Walton County Sheriff's Office told Fox News Digital it doesn't "comment on pending litigation," adding it "prides itself on handling every situation, call for service, or interaction with professionalism using a customer service approach. This has always been our philosophy and will continue to be moving forward." Peter Ticktin, Littrell's lawyer, told Fox News Digital that they had already won a lawsuit to prove that Brian owned the beach behind his house, but "They're still coming, they're still there, because they have a purpose in mind." Ticktin claimed the alleged trespassers believe that someone who works hard shouldn't necessarily have the right to have their own private beach. "The fact is that if you've got talent, and you work really, really hard, you get to be someplace in this world where you can afford to buy a piece of property, and it's yours," he said. "That's the American dream. And to have these people invade his backyard and then to have the sheriffs come and talk to them and tell them they can stay there only encourages them to do more and more wrong, to the point where they actually are assaulting the security people that had to be hired to be able to protect the property." He added, "They hate entitlement, but they're the ones that are seemingly claiming an entitlement to not only be where they don't belong, but to assault people in the process." Littrell said his American Dream was to own a little beach home "that we could go and enjoy and watch the sunset and take pictures and live out memories." He continued, "I'm in my 50s now … I mean, come on. Like, I want to start slowing down a little bit and I want to start enjoying life and I don't want to make the news for this kind of stuff. It's just, it's kind of frustrating. I want to make news about positive music that's changing the world, because we're still at it. We're still doing great, and that's a blessing. And it's like, just because I work hard for it, it's not entitled to everybody else." Littrell said he had no intention to sell the house. "We have a tiny little piece of paradise that we literally prayed for. I mean, we seriously prayed for a place like this for almost 30 years," he said, adding, "The beach makes you feel small. So, you know, it's a great place to write songs, too. And you feel smaller than life when you go to the beach. You don't feel larger than life. You feel smaller than life. You know, I don't wanna be chased out of an area that I love."
